Some of you may have noticed the old kid on the block blog header has been replaced with a new kid-–or at least a new picture of the old kid (or maybe that should be an old but newer picture of the old kid). Whatever the case may be, the difference between the two pictures is striking: Within the short—as in the length of my frame—time span of a little more than a year, yours truly was transformed from a wretched-looking, raggedy Greek village urchin into a clean-cut, wholesome-looking, small-town American first grader ready for his first-ever school picture. As evidence of having made the transition with as few scars as possible, a copy of the first-grade picture was mailed by my parents to relatives in the old country so that they too could see how quickly I had turned into a proper American.
NB: If you look carefully, you can still see the scar on my forehead left there by a stone wall that collapsed on me as I was trying to climb it before leaving for America; incidentally, that village wall disappeared many years ago but the scar it left is still visible.
It is indeed an extraordinary transformation, Vassilis, but the essence of that beautiful and to my mind thoughtful little boy - you can see thoughtfulness, or imagine you see it, in his eyes - remains, as is evident from your portraits here and today through your wonderful writings.
ReplyDeleteI did indeed notice and am delighted to see these juxtaposed. Both are gems, and you’re right, the first-grader might have been plucked from many a San Joaquin Valley school back in the day, where “Leave it to Beaver” and Ellis Island used to run together in the halls, creating their own Dust Bowl and adventurous lunchtime trading sessions, before everything was enriched white bread. And then there’s the signature scar. Mine didn’t come until the sixth grade, when I nearly lost an eye by running into a barbed wire fence. These days it blends in fairly well with the dark circles, but it’s there. Again, beautiful photos. They’re proof, I’d say, that the poem becomes the boy, and then the boy becomes the poem. Such is the road you’re on.
ReplyDeleteI wouldn't have believed it was the same boy. And after spending a few minutes with both photos I'm still struggling.
ReplyDeleteEach boy partied with us last Easter, leaping out of the 'current zambaras' when provoked.
ReplyDeleteTwo photos of the same boy, four comments from four different people prove one thing: The now very grown-up boy is fortunate in having four friends thoughtful enough to let him know what they thought about his transformation--thank you!
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